Impossible Things
by apiratesmile
Summary: "But how did you get here?" Grace asked. The half-mad girl leaned in close with a careful secret on her tongue. "Would you believe I followed a rabbit?" A story of Grace and a family history of madness.


Chapter One: A Bruised Soul

* * *

 _Little Alice fell down the hole, bumped her head and bruised her soul._

The mad girl had dreams of falling. Wonderful dreams of falling through a space of black velvet, but as she fell the darkness would part and she would see brief flashes of other dreams—bright slits of images and faces so familiar she could almost mistake them for memories.

She would wake before she ever reached the bottom of the grand black hole, but the dreams always remained perfectly clear—the images as vivid as if she had just lived them. As the morning light crawled into her small hospital room, she would lie perfectly still in her bed and try to sort the memories from her imagination. But her mind felt mostly like liquid these days—thoughts sloshed in and out of her head before she could finish them. It was in the morning when her mind was the most clear. She would wake early to relish the speed of her thoughts, their perfect clarity and their great fullness.

It was only when the morning drugs were dispensed that her mind would begin to melt again.

In the mornings she liked to think of crazy thoughts and people and a wonderfully mad world. She only thought these things in the early morning—while the hospital slept—it would be a foolish thing to think at any other time. It was dangerous to be mad in a mad house.

In these mad thoughts she would think about a mad man. She would think of his touch and his scent and even the brightness of his clothes, but her thoughts would fail her when she tried to think of his face. She knew it could be soft and hard. His eyes could be wild or steady and his mouth could be firm or teasing but she could not meld these features into a familiar face.

 _That's because he isn't real._

Was that the reason? Were her memories nothing more then slippery dreams? But if the man wasn't real, then what about the little girl?

Was the girl with the fairy face and wise eyes just another figment of her imagination? That seemed impossible. That sweet baby had to be real. She could picture _her_ face so clearly. The soft curve of her cheeks, her delicately upturned nose, her bright, shiny eyes. If she cradled her arms against her breast, she could almost feel the delicate weight of her in her arms. Surely that must mean she was real?

 _A figment of your imagination brought on by a traumatic experience._

She tried to picture the wonderful man once more, but the lights clicked on and the day had begun—the time to dream was over.

* * *

She must be mad, she thought with a laugh. Certainly no sane person would be following a rabbit through the middle of nowhere. It would be absurd. But though she knew it was insane she continued to follow the flash of white fur through the underbrush. It had been the only living soul in the courtyard of the hospital.

She could not remember if she had a family or a life before the hospital.

It appeared all she had was a rabbit that looked like it was in a terrible hurry. With no memories of a past and no thought of her future she stepped toward the rabbit and watched in surprise as he took off in a mad dash.

An inexplicable laugh of delight escaped her lips and, after a brief moment of surprise at the sudden sound, she laughed again. She had forgotten what a wonderful noise it made! When she was finally able to catch her breath, she spotted the rabbit at the edge of the woods impatiently tapping a hind foot.

Was it waiting for her?

She looked to the empty yard and back to the rabbit. It was clear there was nothing here for her…and so she followed the white rabbit. 

* * *

Grace wrinkled her nose as she reread the page, trying to stomach the chaos of the story. Was there not a sane character in this story? Who would think up such nonsense or worse—live through it!

"We haven't seen you around here lately, kiddo," a voice crashed through her thoughts. Grace looked up, startled at Ruby's sudden presence. "I didn't think your dad would let you out of his sight."

Grace gave a weak smile as Ruby poured her another cup of tea. It would be hard to explain to the rebellious teen that _she_ had been the one who kept her father as close as possible. Even when she was at the brink of sleep and he had finished his nightly story, she had wrapped her arms firmly around his, unwilling to allow him to leave even in sleep.

"Watcha reading there?" Ruby asked, squinting over her shoulder to see the title. Grace quickly folded her arms over the book, covering the text completely.

"Just something for school," she smiled innocently. Ruby shrugged, already losing interest when a bitter crash of autumn wind snarled through the diner. The lone pair turned curiously to the door, surprised to see a stranger in a powder blue hospital gown, at the threshold.

It was the lazy stretch of the day between lunch and dinner, making Grace and Ruby the only two living souls to witness the strange sight. Ruby took a cautious step forward, taking in the stranger's bare muddy feet and wild, tangled hair.

"Are you all right?" She asked, tilting her head to gage if it was the lighting that made the girl look half wild.

The girl flinched at the sudden sound

Ruby might have described her as a woman—for there was the unmistakable tightening in her gown from mature breasts and well-defined curves. But her eyes were bright and adrift like a child's.

"Can I help you?" She asked, trying to keep her tone light and friendly so as not to startle her again.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl whispered, her voice hoarse and unsteady. She cleared her throat as if trying to dispel the dust that had gathered from years of disuse. "I didn't mean to come in. It just looked so warm and…"

Ruby quickly pulled out a stool from the counter. "Well then sit down. I'll make a cup of tea."

The stunned mask melted into embarrassment. "I'm afraid I don't have any money."

Ruby waved the thought away. " Don't be ridiculous. It's not everyday we get a stranger around here—is it Grace."

Grace shook her head dumbly—moving purely by instinct at the sound of her name. Her fingers curled into the hard edge of her book. It was as if this stranger had escaped from the illustrations. Certainly she was far older and well worn, but her nose had the same prissy curve to it. Her cheeks were hallowed, but perhaps with a few good meals they would become flush and plump like a doll. But the girl's eyes were the most similar. There was a look of complete loss that the artist had managed to capture and Grace saw it perfectly reflected in the woman's cerulean gaze.

The girl must have felt her heavy stare, for she blinked and suddenly the large, helpless eyes were staring uncertainly back at her.

"Hello," Grace whispered, half-choked with shyness.

"Hello," she cautiously replied back, wringing the edge of her gown as if she didn't quite know what to do with her hands. Grace slid her steaming cup over in invitation and her eyes immediately brightened with gratitude. Ruby silently brought her another cup.

The girl took a timid sip. A look flitted across her face, tugging her lips into a minute grimace.

"Something wrong?" Ruby asked. The stranger set the cup down carefully; almost as if she were afraid the substance would spill and burn her.

"I don't think I like tea," she said, her voice small and apologetic. Red quirked an eyebrow. Grace tried to hold back a giggle. She could only imagine the affronted expression her father would make at such a statement.

"Well I know you'll like Granny's famous hot chocolate—I'll be right back." The stranger watched Ruby disappear to the back and once again she felt the acute stair of the child in the seat next to her. She did her best to swallow back her shyness and gave the girl a tentative smile.

She could barely contain her relief when the girl returned the smile.

"Do you live here, Grace?" she asked more to fill the creeping silence then any real curiosity.

Grace nodded. "I live in a house at the edge of town with my papa."

An image flashed in her mind. A tall man with a grim expression and an iron grip. But before she could truly focus on the reason for the sudden coldness, the image disappeared.

"Are you okay?" Grace asked, slightly worried at the sudden blank expression of the stranger.

"I think so," she said finally, giving a shiver as if it would disperse the bad feeling. "I'm sorry it was just a funny feeling."

"That's okay," Grace smiled understandingly. "I used to get those all the time."

"Really?"

The young girl nodded. "It went away when I started to remember."

"Remember what?"

Grace thought of the strange moments when the people she thought were her parents would tuck her into bed or read her a story. A funny feeling would shiver down her spine as if there was something important missing from this nightly routine. She hadn't been able to name it until a few weeks ago. It was as if a great wave crashed through her—bringing back all her memories and replacing the funny feeling with memories of her papa.

"The important things," Grace said finally, unsure if she should reveal anything further about the town's dark history. Perhaps she was from a different world or maybe she was simply a lost stranger. Maybe Henry would know. He seemed to be an expert about these kinds of things.

"I don't think I can remember anything," she said in a horrified whisper, leaning close to Grace like she was telling a secret.

"What about your name?"

The girl thought for a long, hard moment, her light eyebrows furrowing into a dark crease.

"I don't know," she said finally, releasing a breath in utter dejection. Grace bit her lip. No one had ever prepared her for such a situation.

"Would it help if I gave you one? You can use it until you remember your real one."

A small smile curved the girl's impish lips. She nodded appreciatively. Grace thought for a moment. There was a sudden pressure weighing down in her mind—it was much more serious naming a person then it was a stuffed animal.

"How about Lucy?"

She wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't feel right."

"Annabelle?"

"It seems a little long," she said apologetically. Grace searched her mind for more names but they all seemed a little too ordinary for this stranger.

"Sara? Liza? Daisy?" She suggested, but they were all waved away. Grace tapped her chin thoughtfully. They were too ordinary. She needed something unexpected and surprising on the tongue, but not outlandish. She needed a name that would fit an elvish lady stepping from the woods of her forgotten home.

"Sylvie?"

The woman's head perked up slightly. Her lips moved silently over the name, as if tasting the sound. "It's close," she said finally. "And very lovely. I think I will keep it for a while."

Grace blushed with joy at the success. It was rather difficult to name such a wild thing—how ever did people manage to name falcons or wolves?

"Thank you, Grace." She smiled as Ruby reentered.

"Ruby this is Sylvie," she introduced. Ruby gave a polite smile.

"Nice to meet you, Sylvie. Do you plan on staying here long?"

"I don't know," she admitted warily. "I have nowhere to go."

"You could stay with us!" Grace jumped in excitedly. "We have plenty of room."

Ruby bit the inside of her lip. The little she knew about Jefferson was that he was a man who preferred his privacy. It was unlikely she would welcome a half-mad girl into the already half-mad house.

"Maybe it would be better if you stayed with us," Ruby finally interjected. "We have an extra bed upstairs and we could use some help in the diner."

Sylvie looked doubtfully around the empty diner. Ruby cleared her throat. "Grace it's getting late. You should head home before your dad starts to worry."

Grace slid reluctantly from her stool. She suddenly had a million questions for the stranger, though Grace doubted she would be able to answer any of them. The clock on the wall caught her eyes and Grace suddenly felt flushed with panic.

"Oh no! I'm late!" Grabbing her bag she sprinted out of the diner, praying she would make it home before her father worried. Ruby gave a loving chuckle as she watched the little girl leave. She noticed the stranger's eyes remained fixed on Grace's shrinking figure. A strange look covered her face, like she was trying to drag a struggling memory to the surface.

"Hey Sylvie?" But the girl did not turn.

"Hey!" She tried again, tugging at the girl's hospital gown. The girl turned quickly, trying to blink away the startled expression that had returned to her face.

"Come on," Ruby smiled, nodding toward the upstairs apartment. "Let's find you a change of clothes." 

* * *

Grace carefully closed the door behind her, slowly releasing the latch so the door would close in silence. She stepped cautiously back, shrugging out of her back pack as she made to turn—but there was something solid suddenly blocking her path.

"You're late."

Grace looked up slowly at her father's stern face. His arms were crossed and a frown tightened his jaw. Dropping her backpack to the ground she gave her best apologetic smile—it was large and showed all of her teeth and her father had never been able to fight its magic before.

"I'm sorry, Papa. I stopped at the diner for a snack." She said only feeling partly guilty for partly telling him the truth. Slowly, his arms unfolded and his lips turned into an amused smile, but Grace loved especially how bright his eyes grew.

"Well I suppose I could forgive you just this once," he allowed, pulling her into a hug and kissing the top of her head. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath determined to never again forget her father's comforting scent of wild woods and chamomile. "How was school?"

"It was fine," she said, as she slipped out of her shoes.

"Come keep me company in the kitchen while I make dinner," he said, draping an arm over her shoulder as they moved through the hall.

Grace sat at the island as her father began dinner. She had watched him do this many times in their old life, but like everything else, even this simple ritual had changed. When Grace first reunited with her father she noticed the simple changes first. His hair was shorter and far more tamed then she had ever seen. He wore fine clothes and beautiful scarves and apart from looking a little paler he looked truly healthy and well fed. He seemed more calm and in control—or cocky as Emma would say. It was not until days later that she began to notice the big changes. Perhaps to others he was more confidant, but with her he was timid and uncertain—as if he were afraid that if he reached out and touched her she would simply disappear. Where once he would simply pick her up and kiss her cheek for no reason, he now stood at a distance and moved aching slowly around her, like a rabbit in the presence of a fox.

But perhaps the worst change was in his eyes.

Dark rings of insomnia framed the slants of his eyes, making his once steady grey eyes seem manic like a rabbits. Sylvie has that look too, she thought without meaning to.

 _I wonder how they got it._

* * *

 _I know that it is super late for a mad hatter story but I just could not help my self!_


End file.
